


Warm

by blackflowercrowns



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Albo takes care of his friends, Canon Era, Christmas, Snowball Fight, also he accidentally punched Spot's dog once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackflowercrowns/pseuds/blackflowercrowns
Summary: Albert takes Elmer’s left hand in his, removing Elmer’s holey mitten before rubbing his blue-tinted fingers between his own. Elmer begins clicking his tongue in delight, burrowing farther into Albert’s side.“We really ought ta find you’se some better gloves,” Albert says. “These aren’t doin’ you any good.”“‘S all I got.”





	Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: for the christmas prompts, could you do 18 with albert/elmer
> 
> 18\. “SNOWBALL FIGHT!”

As soon as Elmer opens his eyes, he knows it isn’t going to be a good day. It’s still dark outside, and the grandfather clock chimes four times. Two hours of sleep. He groans and shoves the pillow over his head, not really caring if any of his brothers wake up. If he has to suffer, then so do they.

He lays there until six, staring at the ceiling until he hears the circulation bell ring in time with the grandfather clock out in the hall. Then he reluctantly climbs out of the bed he shares with Lukasz, Dawid, Tomasz and Tomek. The twins roll over, but don’t wake, and Elmer rolls his eyes. It’s always an ordeal trying to get them awake in the mornings.

He pulls on his shirt and knickers. Suspenders go on after socks, and in only a few moments he’s pulling on his threadbare coat and mittens. The only actually warm thing he owns is a knit cap that his grandmother sent him for Christmas. She says she’s going to make them mittens this winter, but Elmer knows she probably won’t be able to make nine pairs. He appreciates the effort, though.

He’s out of the door with a piece of bread clenched between his teeth and the sun rising over the bay behind him. He can already hear his friends bounding through the streets, singing out their wake up song the same way they do every morning. He smiles a little to himself, their enthusiasm worming its way into his heart.

“Hey! Elmo! How’d ya sleep?” JoJo calls as he joins the fray.

“On me back!”

“Hey, you stole that from Jack.”

“More like Jack stole it from me.” Elmer winks and jumps up on a lamppost, making a full rotation before jumping off.

He catches up with the little ones, who tend to travel in the middle of the circle so they don’t accidentally get left behind. Les is among them again, slowly but surely recovering from the fever he had last week. Davey hovers just outside the circle, keeping an eye on Les while still managing to keep a conversation with Jack and Specs.

Elmer steps in beside the smaller Jacobs. “How’s it goin’, Les?”

“Davey won’t let me outta his sight,” the kid whispers. Making his eyes wide, he grabs onto Elmer’s vest. “Help me.”

Elmer laughs and shoots a look at Jack. Jack catches it, steals Davey’s hat off his head, and Les and Elmer disappear into the throng of newsies. Davey lets out an indignant shout, but any future protests are lost in the crowd.

“Hey! Albert, quit stealin’ my cigahs!” Race shouts as the redhead joins the cacophony.

“Par fah the course, Racey boy,” Albert grins.

Race grabs the cigar back and knocks Albert on the head. “An’ don’t call me that neither.”

Albert’s eyes sparkle. “Why not, Racey boy? It’s only revenge.”

“You keeps this up I’ll soak ya’s,” Race shoots back with no malice.

“If you could catch me!”

“Hey! Albert! Look who’s back!” Elmer calls. Albert’s head snaps around, breaking into a grin as he spots Les.

“Les! I told ya ya’d be better in no time!” Albert lifts Les’ bowler hat and ruffles his hair. Elmer yawns, but grins.

They stop by the church, receiving cups of coffee from the nuns to keep them somewhat warm and awake. Albert passes his cup to Elmer, claiming that he doesn’t want it. Elmer is too tired to wonder why Albert would hand over his normally very coveted cup of liquid energy.

Race disappears with Les a few minutes after they reach the circulation yard, no doubt skipping off to Brooklyn before Davey can let out too many of his token protests. Everyone knows that Davey trusts the newsies with both his life and Les’. As long as Mrs. Jacobs doesn’t know, Davey doesn’t care where Les goes, or with who.

“Hey, Elmer. Wanna sell together?” Albert asks, sliding up beside Elmer on the newspaper wagon. “I hear Central Park is gonna be pretty slammed today.”

“Central Park is slammed every day,” Elmer responds, leafing through the paper clutched in his hands. “‘S why it’s Crutchie ‘n’ Mush’s spot.”

“Yeah,” Albert whispers, “but Blink ‘n’ Mush’s headin’ ta the Bowery today, and Crutchie ‘n’ Jack are heading towards Coney. So the park’s free.”

“Is you for real?” Elmer says, pape falling forgotten at his side.

“Real as the red in my hair.”

Elmer snorts. “We all knows that’s from a bottle.”

Albert gasps. “I am insulted, Mr. Sagloo. Downright appalled.”

Elmer stands with a grin on his face. “You’se been hangin’ out wit’ Mouth too much. If ya ain’t careful ya might learn something from the guy.”

Albert snickers. “And wouldn’t that be a cryin’ shame.”

The two mess with each other on the short walk to the park, jostling each other and shouting insults. A few people shoot them disapproving looks, but for the most part, they get about as much attention as the cobblestone on the streets. They each manage to sell about five papers before they reach the park, and after that, it’s a cinch. So many couples are kissing that Elmer doesn’t have to do anything other than interrupt them to sell his first twenty.

They take a break around lunch time, sitting on a park bench. Elmer, who usually hates how much shorter he is than Albert, takes advantage of his stature to curl up into Albert’s side, under his arm.

“Ya cold?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Albert takes Elmer’s left hand in his, removing Elmer’s holey mitten before rubbing his blue-tinted fingers between his own. Elmer begins clicking his tongue in delight, burrowing farther into Albert’s side.

“We really ought ta find you some better gloves,” Albert says. “These aren’t doin’ you any good.”

“‘S all I got.”

“Didn’t you say your grandma sewed?”

Elmer yawns. “She does, but her fingers hurt. She’s got that arithmetic that’s set up in her fingers.”

Albert snickers. “Arithmetic?”

“Ain’t that what it’s called?” Elmer looks up at him.

“Arthritis, Elmer. Arithmetic is addin’ numbers together. ‘S what Race does for fun, that nut. Arthritis is what your granny has.”

“Whateva, it’s close enough.” Elmer settles back into his previous position. “Anyways, she said she was gonna make us all a new pair, but there’s no way she’s gonna be able to make nine pairs this year. And since I’m the youngest, means she won’t get to mine. I’ll get one of the twins, but their mittens have more holes in ‘em then these do.”

Albert hums as he warms Elmer’s hands. “You could wear ‘em both, one pair over the other.”

“Maybe.”

Albert glances down at his smaller form. “You tired?”

Elmer hums in agreement. “Didn’t sleep none last night.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t.”

Albert hums again, replacing Elmer’s left glove. He begins working on Elmer’s right hand, smiling to himself as they return to a more natural pinkish colour. “All done!” he announces. Elmer doesn’t stir. Albert looks down to see that the younger boy has fallen asleep against him.

Albert resigns himself to being a pillow for a while, halfheartedly lifting papes to any passerby. After about fifteen minutes he begins rubbing Elmer’s fingers again, noting they’ve turned a little blue.

~~

Elmer wakes to Albert rustling his shoulder and telling him it’s lunchtime. He rubs his eyes and gathers his papers, following Albert to the nearest deli. Albert orders a sandwich for them to split and two cups of coffee. Elmer receives his half gratefully, and they settle back on the bench to eat.

“So what do ya think you’re gonna get for Christmas this year?” Albert asks through a mouthful of rye.

“An orange?” Elmer says. “I dunno. It’s been kinda tight this year, what with Iwona, you know, being in-the-family-way and everything.”

Albert swallows. “Iwona’s pregnant?”

Elmer shushes him. “Don’t say it so loud!”

“Sorry.”

Elmer sighs. “ _Matka_ -sorry, _Mam_ \- wanted to send her away, heard about this nice home in North Carolina, but Da wouldn’t let her. Said she was family. ‘Sides, ain’t like we’se got the money.”

“When’s she due?”

“July.”

“Still a while away.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Albert gulps down his last bit of coffee, before pitching his cup into the nearest trash can. He rings it, and Elmer claps. Elmer takes the last bite of his sandwich before standing to throw his paper away.

“Hey, Elmer?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know what’ll take your mind off everything?”

“What?” Elmer turns to face his friend, and a white powder explodes against his chest.

“SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Albert grins, holding an already formed ball in his hand.

Elmer grins wickedly. “Oh, you are so on.”

~~

When Elmer comes home that evening, he takes his shoes off by the door. It’s remarkably easier to untie his boots today, for some reason.

“Eliasz!” his _matka_ calls. “You have such rosy cheeks! Did you have fun today?”

“ _Tak_ , I did. Albert and I had a snowball fight in the park!”

His da sets down his pipe. “Eliasz, you don’t have time for play. You’re supposed to sell. That was the deal, remember? Otherwise, you go back to school.”

“Yes, Da, I remember. I sold all my papes, we only played for a while at lunch.” He sets his bag of coins on the table in front of his father to be counted. Not for the first time, he fantasizes about taking the coins and running, but instead, he leaves them on the table.

His da counts the coins as Elmer shuffles down the hall into his bedroom he shares with the other boys. He slips his hat off and hangs it on the hook, gloves coming off after. It’s then that Elmer realizes they’re made from a smoother, more supple material than they were this morning.

Elmer moves over to the lamp, observing the strange objects in his hands. Leather gloves. Leather gloves that he definitely did not have that morning, and leather gloves that he certainly did not steal during the day.

He scrutinized every inch, looking for any indication as to who they belonged to. It isn’t until he catches a glance of a familiar mark on the pinky that he breathes. A _D_ and an _S_ , curled together, the signature branding of the DaSilva tannery on Fifteenth street.

Elmer grins, clutching them tight to his chest. It suddenly makes sense why the snowball fight hadn’t been as cold as usual. Albert was looking out for him. Albert made sure that his friend was protected.

~~

Albert swings the door open and is greeted with the sight of his two older brothers sitting at the table.

“How was work?” Dennis asks.

“It was pretty good. Lost my gloves again, though.”

William looks up from his book. “Da’s not gonna be happy about that.”

Albert shrugs. “I know, but what’s the worst that could happen?”

William and Dennis exchange a look. “You don’t want to find out.”

“Don’t want to find out what?” Mr. DaSilva enters, dumping a pile of firewood on the floor next to the fireplace.

“Nothing,” they all say.

Mr. DaSilva regards them coolly. “Something you boys want to tell me?” he asks.

Albert clutches his hands together. “I, uh, lost my gloves? In the park? Elmer and I looked everywhere for them, but I guess they got lost in the snow or-”

“ _Again_ , Albert?” he spat. “That’s the third pair this winter! And it’s only December!”

Albert looks at his feet. “Sorry.”

Mr. DaSilva ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “You are paying for this pair. Full price. Five dollars -”

Albert gulps.

“- and, every pair you lose after this. And that’s on top of your regular income, so you better start haulin’ a lot more papers. No new gloves until I have that money in my hand, you understand me?”

Albert nods.

“Leather is expensive, especially over here. You can’t keep losing this stuff. Doesn’t grow on trees, Albert.”

“Yessir.”

Mr. DaSilva grimaces. “Fix dinner. I’m going back out to the shop.” The door slams behind him, and all three boys flinch.

Dennis is the first to speak. “He must be real tired.”

“Whateva saves me a beating,” Albert mutters. “Whaddaya you guys want?”

“Potato soup?”

“Luck o’ the Irish it is, then.” Albert finishes undressing before pulling potatoes out of the bin and chopping them up.

Dennis sits up straighter. “Y’know, I think I got an old pair-”

“Ya don’t,” Albert interrupts. “I gave ‘em to Race.”

“Maybe I have-”

“Nope, gave those to Boots.”

“The ones under-”

“Peace offering for Spot when I accidentally punched his dog.”

“You accidentally punched a dog?”

“Long story," Albert sighs. ‘Sides, I’ll be fine. I just gotta visit Buttons later, and he’ll help me. I’ve got a few pairs o’ mittens that he can mend together. Should last ‘til I can pay for a new pair.”

“And a pair after that,” Dennis grins.

“And a pair after that,” William says.

Albert smiles ruefully. “Alright, alright, I get it, I get it. No need to be so cheeky. I’m tryin’ ta help my fellow man.”

“Help ya fellow man,” William mocked, nudging Dennis in the ribs. “He’s been hangin’ out with some kinda politician!”

“Help ya’self a’fore you try so hard to help ya fellows. God helps those who help themselves, ya know," Dennis says with a false air of wiseness about him.

Albert rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. Jeez, what is ya, my mudda?” He sighs. “I’m just trying to help. These kids, they got even less than we do. Snipes can’t even afford a spot at the Lodge tonight, least I can do is try to help him make it through the night without freezing to death.” Albert poured some cream into the pan and set it on the eye. “‘Sides. I like the look on their faces when I give ‘em stuff. Like Christmas came early. Warms me more than coffee ever could.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come shout at me on tumblr (main: @we-dont-sell-papes, writeblr is @rightwaytowriteit)


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